


Kiss the Bees

by kitausu



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Beekeeping, Dry Humping, First Kiss, Flirting, Fluff, Getting Together, Kissing, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 02:49:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13262037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitausu/pseuds/kitausu
Summary: Lance is smitten with the beekeeper next door.





	Kiss the Bees

**Author's Note:**

> This is just something I've had on my mind for a while. Some plotless fluff to start off the year and to put some good vibes out into the world.

_“Bees do have a smell, you know, and if they don't they should, for their feet are dusted with spices from a million flowers.” ―_ _[Ray Bradbury](https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1630.Ray_Bradbury), [Dandelion Wine](https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/1627774)_

Lance didn’t know much about bees…and by that what he really meant was that he knew absolutely nothing about bees. What he _did_ know was that while he had been away for school, a bee keeper had moved in next door. His name was Takashi Shirogane, “call me Shiro”, and he moved through the hives like a dancer on the stage, even in his clunky bee space suit.

“You’re staring again,” Lance’s mama chided, nudging him out of her way so she could get to the sink to wash her hands in the kitchen.

“I’m not! I’m just…making sure he’s okay.”

“Okay, fine, hot as the center of the sun,” Lance’s sister sang as she skipped through the room.

“I told you not to listen in on my phone calls!” Lance wailed, cheeks flushed from having his own words parroted back at him from his late-night SOS to Hunk.

Lance stormed out of the room, acting infinitely more 12 then the 22 he was, trying to get away from his sister’s mocking song. When he finally stopped, he was standing on the edge of their property, Shiro only a little ways away from him and in the process of taking off his helmet.

Even from here Lance could see the sweat plastering his hair to his skin, the sun sweltering in the middle of the summer. Shiro was in the process of running his hand through his hair, smoothing the white strands back and sending Lance into cardiac arrest.

“Hey, Lance!” Shiro lifted his free hand quickly to wave, the hair now sticking up wildly and still managing to make Lance’s body thrum.

Shiro made his way closer, prosthetic holding the helmet tucked up under his arm, a parody of the astronaut he might have been.

“What are you doing out here?” Shiro smiled, standing closer then necessary, close enough for Lance to smell the sweat on him and feel a little weak in the knees.

“Getting some— _trying_ to get some air,” Lance flushed, tripping over his words as Shiro licked his lips. Teasingly? Unthinkingly?

They could both still hear Lance’s sister, singing away, thankfully too far away for her words to be anything but unintelligible noise.

“I can understand that.”

Shiro tilted his head a little, as if considering something. Was there an eagerness to his look? A reluctance? Lance wanted to dart forward and kiss him, press their lips together and taste which one it was.

“You know…” He started slowly, adjusting the helmet a little against his hip.

“If you ever needed a place, to get some air I mean…you’re always welcome.”

Lance blinked, perfectly sure he had misheard. Shiro wasn’t…there was no _way._

“In fact…If you wanted…I, maybe you could…come over for dinner tonight. To get some air…I mean,” Shiro trailed off lamely, his own blush now taking over from the sun and darkening the pink of his cheeks.

“Yes! I mean, yeah, sounds…could be cool.”

 _Could be cool._ Was Lance 12? Apparently so. Except Shiro looked delighted, shifting his feet so he was just the barest centimeter closer to Lance, so their elbows almost knocked together, they were standing that close already.

“Oh, great! I just need to shower first.”

For a second, Lance wondered if Shiro was going to invite him in, to offer his shower as a place to _get some air._ But Shiro only grinned and waved again and bounced off towards his house, a little one-person cottage, perfect for a beekeeper, perfect for _getting some air._

-

Lance wandered around the property a little after Shiro left, kicking at rocks and wondering how long he needed to wait. How long did Shiro need to take a shower? 5 minutes? 10? Would he get off in there, stroke himself and think of him.

Part of Lance wanted to chastise himself. Shiro was just being polite, being sweet with him. Shiro was always sweet. He gave free honey to the little old ladies who only had their pension. Shiro didn’t grip the head of his cock and think of how tight Lance would be around him, picture Lance in his bed, picture Lance on his knees and… _no._ Shiro was too sweet for that.

Lance wasn’t though. He had spent ages in the shower these past summer mornings, thinking of just that. He knew, once he had been _in_ Shiro’s house, and actually seen his bed, that his morning rituals would only get worse, more vivid, _better_ really.

He thought about showering before going, about fingering himself to the image he had just conjured. But he had wasted too much time outside and the sun was starting to dip behind the rim of the earth and Shiro was probably waiting for him. He knew he smelt like grass and dust and the heat of his own body as he made his way across the field and to Shiro’s door.

Skirting the hives out of habit, Shiro must have seen him on his detour, because he was waiting on the porch, dressed in those slouchy jeans and a button down that never failed to drive Lance wild.

“Come on,” Shiro reached out for him, taking Lance’s forearm in hand and pulling him up the few rickety stairs.

The inside of Shiro’s house wasn’t entirely different from Lance’s, just smaller. It was made for a “bachelor” with a table by the window and a bed in the corner. The window itself overlooked the wide-open plains that stretched away from their respective homes, making each other the only viable neighbors within seeing distance.

Lance let Shiro guide him to the table, pulling him past the overstuffed couch and the beat-up coffee table, freshly wiped and smelling of pine-sol.

There was already food set out on the kitchen table, two plates with salads, two glasses of wine, a candle, and two empty bowls for the soup simmering on the little stove a few feet away.

Lance was caught up on the wine, on the candle too, but mostly the wine.

“Is this a date?” He winced, immediately regretting how harsh it sounded.

Shiro dropped his arm and Lance wanted to reach out for him and to replace his touch on his skin. He half expected Shiro to waffle around it, or to even say something as evasive as _if you want it to be._ He should have known better.

“Yes, it is. This is a date.”

There was no hesitancy in Shiro’s gaze, just the calm collected look of a man who didn’t equivocate.

Lance licked his lips, fingers trailing along his own arm, still warm from Shiro’s palm.

“Okay…good.”

For the first time since he walked in the door, Lance looked Shiro right in the eye.

“I’m glad.”

Shiro smiled then, relief clear in the lines across his face and the way he reached out and took Lance’s hand this time, not just his arm, and guided him to his chair. Lance flushed when Shiro tried to pull away to get the soup, only to find Lance’s hand still gripping his prosthetic like a lifeline.

“Ah…sorry,” Lance stuttered, dropping Shiro’s hand and trying to bury his face in his own and nearly toppling his wine glass in the process.

Lance could feel words bubbling up in the back of his throat, a nervous habit he had never grown out of it, but managed to tamp down on.

“Did you know, I’ve thought about this,” Shiro’s back was to him as a he spoke, rummaging around in a draw for something, probably a ladle for the soup.

“Y-you have?”

Despite all of Lance’s posturing and flirting, he never really thought Shiro was an option. Shiro was… _Shiro_ and Lance was lanky and awkward and frequently stumbled over his own feet like a colt learning to walk.

“I have. I’ve thought about you at that table, sketching in that little notebook you carry around in the field, or sleeping on my couch, or stretched out on my bed.”

Fire hummed in Lance’s gut, his legs shifting at the churning interest aching in his groin, making him restless.

Shiro brought the pot over, spooning the soup into Lance’s bowl then his own before moving back to the stove.

“Tell me if I’m going too fast.”

How could Lance answer that? Too fast? It had only been a month, of course it was too fast. But, it was also well past time. Lance had spent too much time watching Shiro, thinking about Shiro, fantasizing about his hands on his thighs, of his lips and tongue at the space between his fingers.

When Shiro came back around to sit, Lance could almost see himself reflected in his eyes. He looked desperate, blue eyes wide and watering a little, mouth slightly open and wanting.

“Kiss me?”

They forgot dinner after that, almost forgot the candle if not for Shiro’s boy scout instincts to blow it out before picking Lance up and carrying him to the bed a few feet away.

Shiro fell sat heavily on the mattress, taking Lance down with him before rolling him on his back. Elbows braced on either side of his head, Shiro loomed over him, his little tuft of white hair tickling Lance’s forehead.

“I’ve been watching you all summer,” Shiro confessed, a tinge of honesty and awkwardness making them both stilted with the need for this to be perfect and overdoing it, like so many people do.

Lance spread his legs, adjusting to hook them more comfortably around Shiro’s hips.

“You still haven’t kissed me yet,” Lance teased, finding himself again in Shiro’s self-conscious laugh and the feel of his own smirk pressed smooth under Shiro’s lips.

The feeling of Shiro’s lips, moving slowly, over and over, against his, was something Lance would remember forever. They didn’t do much more than that, rocking together and spilling in their pants. It should have felt silly, like two teens to eager to undress. But Lance felt syrupy and heavy with it, like it was the right way to start, in the heat of the summer, on the bed of the beekeeper who lived next door.


End file.
